On American Soil
by Atypicall
Summary: Horatio is captured and brought to an Anerican prison. yada.Chapter 3 just added.
1. Default Chapter

Title: On American Soil  
Author's note: Please be kind when reviewing this, if you review it. It is only recently that I have seen any of the HH series, but I really like it. Horatio and Archie both are wonderful and as of right now I'm telling you all that I will ignore any parts of Retribution where Archie and Wellard get killed. They will live on in my fanfiction. Anyway, The Indy is attacked in the night by a French frigate and Horatio is captured. He ends up alone in an American jail, I'll explain that later. Wellard and Archie go after him. Chase is my OC, but you can use her if you ask. I will do my best to limit Mary Sue type qualities.  
  
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me they belong to, ANE? I think. And by the by forgive any gross mistakes I make in the story line. I have as of yet seen only Mutiny and Retribution, so I'm still learning the ropes.   
  
~*~  
  
The sea barely rippled as the large British ship glided over its surface. The night was quiet, the stars glittering brilliantly in a velvet sky. The Indefatigable was asleep, her crew, her sails stowed away for the evening hours. Only the officer of the watch remained, and the effects of many long days were taking their toll on him as well. His lids felt weighted as if by anchors and he jolted in and out of sleep every few moments.  
  
The Captain dozed fitfully in his quarters, happy in the knowledge that he and his ship had survived two encounters with the Frogs and come out the better for it. They held a Captain in chains below, as well as several of his Lieutenants. Horatio Hornblower, a Lieutenant himself in the King's Navy, slept equally as well. He was blissfully unaware of the dawn creeping toward him, and the danger awaiting the Indy over the horizon.   
  
Horatio's best friend and confidant could not sleep. Archie Kennedy was something of an insomniac. He slept only when he felt the pressing need, or when he was ordered to, but sleep for him meant something different than it did to the others. In his hours of respite he grew agitated. Haunting dreams filled his mind's eye and fits came mostly in the night. So he paced. He paced in his quarters, on the deck, in the hold and in the wee hours of the morning it was he who first called attention to the threat.   
  
Dawn peeked over the horizon, the sky ablaze in the deepest red. And still the waters remained eerily calm, the surface unscathed for miles. This sense of solitude drew a deep foreboding for lieutenant Kennedy and he fretted as the sun began to rise. It was not his watch, and still he fretted.   
  
"Ship ho!" The loud, almost frenzied shout sent Horatio flying from underneath his bedcovers. "French frigate!" Hastily, he pulled on his worn blue jacket and boots. Footsteps could be heard all over the ship as the crew wakened in the heart of chaos.  
  
Horatio rushed into the weak sunlight, blinking and squinting. His jacket fluttered in the breeze. He kept one hand still on his saber and the other on his pistol already loaded with shot. As his vision cleared he could see the French ship clearly, drawing closer much faster than he would have thought possible. Men teemed about her deck.   
  
"Man the cannons, Styles, Wellard!" he shouted. Men rushed below to ready the Indy's weapons, but they were not ready for the first onslaught of the French. The captain stood outside his cabin yelling orders at the Lieutenants and crewmen alike.   
  
Horatio spotted Archie giving orders to the guards. He dispatched them quickly as everyone left on deck readied for the impending boarding. Mr. Bush was below helping to ready the cannons. Archie hurried to Horatio's side.  
  
"The Frogs don't know when to give up. This day will live in infamy I guarantee it." Horatio's best friend flashed him a cocky, know it all grin.  
  
The first shot missed the Indy by mere feet, landing in the water a scant distance from the port side. "You were the one to raise the alarm Archie, I distinctly remember your voice. How is it you happened upon this frigate no one else seemed to see?"  
  
"I was merely wandering the deck, looking for some hapless midshipman to order about. The frigate was shrouded in fog till just moments before I spotted it. Pure luck I can assure you."  
  
The next shot did not miss. The captain's quarters were laid to ruin as the shot splinted and cracked the beams of his room. The frigate began a turn that would bring it alongside the Indy. "Keep your head about you Horatio."  
  
"And you as well Mr. Kennedy." Finally, after many agonizing moments the Indy fired her first cannon. The shot hit the oncoming frigate broadside, but did little more than to form a hole in the ship's side. The two vessels could have scraped together as the frigate drew in.  
  
Crewmen almost instantly overran men from both sides from the opposing ship. Horatio drew his saber and immediately slashed a young midshipman. He felt Mr. Kennedy at his back and, comforted by the thought of having someone there, focused his attentions in front of him and fought in earnest.  
  
All around men were being wounded and maimed. Kennedy ran a young officer through with his blade. Two Frenchmen advanced on Horatio. He shot one with his pistol, blocking the other with his sword. The man, although proficient, was not a match for the English officer. He made a wild slash at Horblower's side, leaving his right side open for attack. He clutched his side and fell to the deck, howling with pain.  
  
It was not long after that Horatio saw the Captain being advanced upon. He fought as well he could, but his back was against the wall and he was facing three Frogs all on his own. Horatio bounded through the fighting fray, knocking two Frenchmen down as he ran. He speared one man through the back. Another he slashed, the Captain finishing him off. Horatio held off the last as Captain Pellew (is it Pellew?) ran to a point of more strategic advantage.  
  
The battle, for all its blood and gore, was short lived. Within ten minutes the French were streaming back on board the Frigate and it was getting ready to set off from the Indy. Horatio watched as Styles chased a Frog from the hold. He didn't hear the man sneaking up behind him. All he felt was the sharp pain in the back of his head and the sensation of pitching toward the deck.  
  
--  
  
Kennedy shackled the last Frog beside his brethren and stood back to revel in the ship's handiwork. Five men were strung together, all looking angry and rather pitiful. The frigate had limped away from the fight, leaving fifteen of their own behind, only five of which were still alive. The Indy however, was not in much better shape, and the Captain refrained from giving pursuit.   
  
The main sail was torn nearly in half and would take several days to fix. They would have to use the smaller, replacement sail for the time being. Only three of the British men had been killed in the raid and five had minor scrapes and other injuries to take care of, the least of which was a broken toe received by Mr. Bush.  
  
The Captain and his Lieutenants stood in the officer's quarters. "That frigate did not happen upon us by accident gentlemen," the Captain stated gravely.  
  
"They were after the officers we have locked away sir," Bush supplied. "This is the testimonial I have received from one of the imprisoned."  
  
"It seems then that the frogs may try again. We must be ready for them. Drill the crew for the next few days and place double watch at night. I do not wish to have a repeat of last night's debacle. Mend the main sail as quickly as possible. And where the devil is Mr. Hornblower?"  
  
Kennedy's eyebrows shot into the heavens. Thinking back upon it, he did not remember seeing Horatio after wishing him luck and being boarded. "Go check with the Doctor Mr. Wellard. And be quick about it."  
  
There was no mistake. Horatio was nowhere to be found on the Indy. He was not in the hold with the crew or interrogating the prisoners. He was not in the sick bay being treated. So the question remained, where was Hornblower?  
  
--  
~Two days later~  
  
The young man was shoved hard into the cold jail cell. His knees did not seem able to hold him, and he fell roughly to the cell's dirt encrusted floor. The foul stench of human excrement filled his nostrils and a sizeable rat skittered into its den.   
  
The man's dark hair was matted and tangled, both by blood and dirt. He had been stripped of his coat, the only truly warm piece of clothing he possessed and the damp, chilly air sank deep into him. A hideous, dark purple bruise covered the right side of his face.  
  
The man's eyes blazed as he pushed himself up from the floor. Gingerly, he wiped the excess dirt and grime from scraped palms. His captor muttered something to another man in French and slipped him a wad of bills. The second man, unshaven and slightly heavy through the middle, accepted with a smile. The smile revealed a set of yellow, twisted teeth.  
  
The French officer locked his eyes onto those of the Lieutenant. He sneered and spat upon the floor by the cell. Then he turned sharply on his heel and left the jail. "Those French boys pay real well to keep the likes of you here," the jailer told the unresponsive Brit.   
  
"And where," Horatio began slowly, "exactly is this Mecca you proclaim as 'here?'"  
  
"You're on American soil now. Virginia to be more precise. But don't worry, you won't be here long. I'll have someone by to tend those bruises."  
  
"Don't trouble yourself."  
  
"It's no trouble. Those Frenchmen pay for me to keep you in good health, and I will too, just so long as you don't start trouble."  
  
"And if I start trouble?" He goaded.  
  
For the first time since coming in, the man frowned. "Make no mistake. You have no friends here. You start trouble and you will go back to the French as damaged merchandise. Now, someone will be along shortly."  
  
Horatio sat himself on the one piece of furniture in the dismal place, a tiny, unbedded cot that had seen far better days. The straw mattress was shredded in places, leaving rotting twigs to poke out the holes. It was befouled as well, dark stains crusted and dried, reeking. He sat so that he was on the very edge of the bed, touching as little of it as he could.   
  
He was alone. His section of the jail was far back from the others, out of sight of any visitors who might question the presence of an English officer. He squinted in the dark, peering out into the aisle. At the end off the cell block a door was propped open and he could sent he jailer gleefully counting his money with his feet propped up on a large oak desk.  
  
The woman approached from the main jail. She knocked tentatively on the jailer's door. She clutched a small basket close to her chest. The jailer eyed her like a dog eyed meat, hanging close to her as he walked her to Horatio's cell.  
  
"She'll fix you up right quick." He unlocked the door and ushered the woman inside. "Behave yourself though for I'll be right down there." He closed the door behind her, locking it securely and proceeding back to his office.  
  
Horatio eyed the woman carefully as she worked. She was barely a woman, certainly no older than he or Archie. Her dress did not hide her lightness in build, nor did the dark cover the calluses on her hands. Her hair, which Horatio guessed was light brown, was pulled back away from her face, but a few unruly strands departed from her ribbon. She did not look at him or utter a single word as she readied her potions. She held her chin out at a defiant angle, the muscles in her jaw flexing.  
  
The truth was that she had no need to look at the sailor again. She had already noted the characteristics of his face in her mind. He was young, but with eyes wise beyond their years. They were dark and soulful. His face was rather thin and his bones stood out from his skin, but not in such a way that made him unattractive. He was not husky or heavily laden with muscle, but had a rather athletic, if not thin build. He was like the others that had come before him, his fate still unknown to him. His eyes made her feel almost sorry for him, if only had he not been British.  
  
She poured the last of her jar of water into a small bowl. She righted herself and wiped her hands on the front of her dress. "I've only two rules," she began authoritatively. "The first is that you do not speak unless to tell me where and how you hurt and the second is that you do not touch. Nod if you understand." Mildly amused by her demeanor, Horatio nodded.  
  
"Good then, we understand each other. Now, I have a little laudanum for you to drink if you feel so inclined. I need to apply this salve to your bruises..." The entire application of care was rendered in a few minutes. The woman packed her things as efficiently as she had unpacked them and called for the jailer. "Stephen!" Keys rattled as he approached. An afterthought, she turned as she was readying herself to leave. "I'll be bye later with some food."  
  
Horatio saw her several times in the hours following his arrival. She brought a plate of food to him in the afternoon. The food was barely edible, and the portions would be pressed to keep a dog alive, but Horatio ate it ravenously nonetheless. He spent the night drifting between a restless sleep and thinking of ways to escape. Not that he knew where he would go if he managed it at all. He had no idea where the Indy sailed at present and no way to know where in Virginia he was. Animosity toward the British still rang in many towns on the American seaboard.  
  
The woman brought him food in the morning as well. He was starving then too, shoveling the thick gruel greedily into his mouth. And again, the plate was emptied far too soon.  
  
She came back again in the afternoon, basket in hand to tend his wounds. Again she uttered barely a word though the entire process. But this time when she turned to leave, Horatio was ready. "Wait," he told her, grabbing hold of her wrist.  
  
The woman pulled futilely against his grip. "Do you not remember rule number two?" she hissed. "I could scream to bloody hell right now and send Stephen running."  
  
"You could, but I don't think you will," he responded. "What's your name?"  
  
The woman ignored him. "What makes you think I won't?"  
  
"Because I think you fear him nearly as much as you hate me. What I wonder is why?"  
  
"You, are British. That makes you no better than a mongrel begging for scraps at a dinner table."  
  
"At least it's not personal," he quipped. She didn't smile. "And you've taken a job in this wretched place because?"  
  
"I need the money, not that it's any of your business. I learned a bit about healing from my mother, and Stephen is the only person that would hire me."  
  
"But why am I here? A French frigate attacked my vessel. I remember being taken aboard, but everything after that is rather hazy."  
  
The woman sighed. "We get a few like you every so often. The French officers bring you in the evening and pay Stephen. Stephen keeps you back here, away from the other prisoners while the Frenchmen go off and do whatever it is that they do. Since you are not present on the vessel the French can claim that you were never taken in the first place. They'll come back for you in a few weeks. Then they'll question you about everything you know about the British movements and battle plans."  
  
"And how is it you know so much about all this?"  
  
"The walls here have ears. But mark my words, you will not leave this place alive. Once they have all they need from you Stephen will take you out and slaughter you like a pig. You were never here, you never existed. And since no man deserves to die like that I do hope that God will take mercy on your soul."  
  
"God, but not you?"  
  
"Not I. In the war my mother watched as British soldiers raided her house and killed my grandmother. They raped her, and strangled her and then moved in on my mother. She was barely more than a child. My father says it destroyed her. She died a year after I was born. So no, you will get no sympathy from me. Now let go of my arm."  
  
Horatio did as he was asked. The woman nodded. "Stephen!" The jailer unlocked the cell and let her out. Horatio sighed. Things looked more grim by the hour. He wondered if those on the Indy were even looking for him.  
  
--  
  
"But sir!"  
  
"No Mr. Kennedy. And I will not repeat myself again. I will let that act of insolence slide simply because I know you speak out of loyalty to Mr. Hornblower, but my answer remains the same. We have our orders and we will carry them out."  
  
The Captain stalked back into his quarters. Archie followed close on his heels, shutting the door behind him. "It's Horatio sir," he spoke plaintively.  
  
"I realize that Mr. Kennedy," the Captain's words were still unfeeling, but the vehemence he had displayed in front of the crew was fast fading. He had always had a soft spot for Mr. Hornblower.  
  
"One of the prisoners stated that he saw Horatio being loaded upon the frigate before he was captured. The ship was wounded sir. They would have had to go to the nearest friendly port to make repairs. That is in Virginia."  
  
"We have our orders."  
  
"And we both know that restocking the ship can't wait, but we also both know that it is not imperative for me to be present while doing it. The sail is almost set and ready. And we sail into friendly waters. You have no more need of me at this moment."  
  
The captain reached up to rub his temple. His resolve was fading quickly. He leveled gray eyes at Kennedy. "We will be coming back through these waters in sixteen days Mr. Kennedy. Have you not found him by then I will still expect you to return. Otherwise I will list you a deserter."  
  
Archie felt like shouting. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Understood sir. Thank you sir." He saluted and turned to leave.  
  
"Mr. Kennedy," he paused by the door. "Take Mr. Wellard along with you. Bring him back Lieutenant."  
  
"Yes sir." Wellard and Archie were set to get underway in a matter of hours. Styles and Bush wished them luck as they lowered the boat. They were dressed for the first time in months in something other than a uniform. The two would fit in fairly well with the locals, just so long as they kept their accents in check. And then they were away, rowing in the opposite direction of the Indy, toward what they hoped would be Horatio, and what they knew to be American soil.  
  
End Chapter 1  
  
I hope this was a decent first effort. Do tell me if I made any gross mistakes. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks.  



	2. Chased Away

Chapter 2  
Disclaimer: See Chapter one  
Author's note: Now the search begins for Horatio. And okay, I made a gross error in the fact that I said that Bush and Wellard were on the Indy. Oops, sorry. Like I said, Chase is mine, but you may use her if you ask.  
Archive: Sure, but tell me first.  
  
~*~  
  
"Put your back into it Mr. Wellard!" The two sailors grunted as they dragged the heavy skiff onto the beach. Both men were red faced and breathing hard by the time they had gotten the skiff past the beach and into the woods. They piled leaves and fallen branches across it, camouflaging their means of transport off American ground.  
  
Archie pulled his knapsack from the Indy's skiff and handed Wellard's to the younger man. "We have a little more than two weeks here Mr. Wellard and a lot of ground to cover. There are two small towns not far from the port where the frigate would have docked, Portsmouth and Richardson. My recommendation is that we split up and search the two towns separately. I will go to Portsmouth and you to Richardson."  
  
"Yes sir. And if one of us finds the lieutenant before the other?"  
  
"There is a crossroads where the roads to the two towns diverge. Meet me back there in three days to exchange information. Meet me there before noon. Keep your eyes and ears open Mr. Wellard, but keep your mouth shut. AS of right now you look like, act like and, if you must speak, talk like an American. It is imperative that no one knows us to be Englishmen. Understood?"  
  
"Absolutely sir."  
  
"Good lad. We had best be on our way. Good luck."  
  
"Best of luck to you as well sir."  
  
The two men then parted company. Wellard found the path to Richardson and started along it. Archie, having a slightly better sense of direction than his cohort, traveled through the brush in order to save time. In his sack he had food enough to last for a week or so, as long as he used it sparingly. He also had his knife and pistol, wrapped carefully in oil cloth, should he need to hunt or protect himself. It was odd really, walking around out of uniform. The tan breeches, white shirt and tan vest felt foreign and unnatural.   
  
The town of Portsmouth was a wind blown village of no more than two hundred people. Most were farmers, living out in cleared spaces in the wood that they farmed as best they could. The farms were a far cry from some of the large, prosperous plantations run to the South. Others lived within the town's borders, running small shops and providing services to the local population.   
  
The main hearth of buildings surrounded a single, dusty street. There housed a boarding house, dry goods store and small pub, to name a few. Kennedy could take the entire town in with one sweep of his eyes and he did just that. He decided forthwith that the best place to start looking for his lost friend would be the establishment where people talked the most freely. And since liquor often loosened tongues, he decided to first visit the pub with a crooked sign and batwing doors. He just hoped that he would be able to hear something of a French ship, or a British prisoner on board it.  
  
--  
  
Another day passed for Horatio in the dank penitentiary chamber. Boredom began to seep into his mind as he exhausted his ideas on ways to escape. He recited every piece of nautical rule he could remember, sang every sea chantey in his mind. Anything to keep his mind off the solitude, the smell, and his ever increasing hunger.  
  
So Horatio resorted to pacing, a habit he only employed when terribly agitated. And a habit he had no doubt picked up from Archie somewhere along the way. He paced in circles, along the wall, and haphazardly about the tiny room. Sometimes he would stop to observe the comings and goings of Stephen from his office, but for the most part he just walked. Nearing the end of the day he knew, within a few centimeters, the dimensions of his cell.  
  
And as the sun passed over the one tiny window on the block she came again, like clockwork, clutching her bundle to her chest. She stopped briefly by Stephen's door. The large man glared at her from behind red rimmed eyes. After an elongated pause he drew his feet off his desk and escorted her to Horatio's cell. He staggered along behind her, obviously more than a little drunk.  
  
She waited impatiently at the door, tapping her foot on the cobblestone. Stephen had to reach around her to unlock the door. He paused after inserting the key, leaning closer to her and burying his nose in her hair. She turned toward him, not looking so much afraid as agitated. "Do you think," she informed the jailer sternly, "that my rules do not apply to you as they do every other man on these premises? If you do than you are sadly mistaken."  
  
"Oh no darlin' I definitely ain't mistaken."  
  
The jailer's hands wandered aimlessly over the woman's body. She felt like her skin might just crawl right off her body. They finally found her waist and drew her neared to him. Horatio stopped his incessant pacing. "You are about to lose that hand Stephen," she growled.  
  
"I've no need of it," he replied flippantly. "I can accomplish all that I need with just the one. One coarse palm found her throat, his fingers enclosing about her jugular and he pressed her roughly into one of the nearby walls. She clawed vainly at his hands and a set of desperate eyes found Horatio's over the slope of the man's shoulder. Horatio bristled. His present state of incarceration had not bled him of his sense of chivalry, and the key was in the lock. He mused for fewer than three seconds before making his decision.  
  
His hands fairly flew at the key. The heavy, wrought iron door swung open with a loud crash. Stephen seemed not to notice, his attention fixated on the struggling woman in front of him, until Horatio launched himself upon Stephen's back at least.  
  
Stephen roared and relinquished his grip on the healer's throat. She slid to the ground, gasping and red faced. He flung Horatio from his back and the two men squared off to face one another. Horatio's blows hit solid and true but Stephen, being so thoroughly intoxicated seemed not to notice. He swung a meaty fist and it caught Horatio in the head.  
  
The English officer faltered. Days of malnourishment had sapped him of his strength. Stephen once again hit him in the face, this time forcing Horatio to the ground. Then he kicked at Horatio's side mercilessly with the toe of his boot. The Lieutenant drew his arms closer to his chest, shielding himself as best he could.  
  
"Stephen!" the woman cried out. "He's finished. Stop before you kill him." Eyes drugged by alcohol and blood lust didn't comprehend at first. Finally he nodded. He grabbed the smaller man's collar and threw him bodily back into the cell.  
  
The healer flinched when Stephen turned to her, but stood her ground just the same. He swiped at the small string of saliva that hung from the corner of his mouth. "He gets no dinner tonight, you understand?" She nodded quietly. "In fact, stay away from him till morning." Casting a last, hateful glare at Horatio, he stumbled back to his office and to his bottle. The woman too, scurried away, scooping up her bottles as she passed by them.  
  
Horatio rolled over onto his back, either not noticing or not caring as the dampness from the floor seeped through his shirt and breeches. He shut his eyes and tried to will away the pain. When he heard quiet footsteps approaching the cell he was surprised. When he heard the key twist in the lock his eyes shot open. She had come back.  
  
He drew himself into a sitting position. "What are you doing back here?"  
  
"Coming to check on you."  
  
"And Stephen simply let you have his keys after expressly ordering you to stay away from me?"  
  
"Stephen," she dropped to her knees beside him, "is passed out in his office and will most likely stay there the rest of the night. And as for the keys, he doesn't know that I have them. Now hush." Experienced fingers probed at his swollen face.  
  
"How bad is it?" He winced as she neared the patch of flesh surrounding his left eye.  
  
She smiled softly. "Let's put it this way. Now you a matching set of blackened eyes. Makes you look like something of a raccoon actually. I have a salve for your face, but I am afraid there is not much I can do for your ribs."  
  
"Tis no matter. Another pain in my stomach makes no difference at this point as I shall not be having dinner. And the scant hours of reprieve from my hunger are actually more detrimental than beneficial, tortuous really. It seems that I may as well get used to the idea of going without and learn to just grin and bear it, so that I may become used to the constant gnawing hunger in my abdomen."  
  
"You could do that," she admitted with a slight incline of her head. "And as I mentioned before, there is little I can do for you side, but I can do something for your stomach. I snatched these from the galley." All thoughts of abstaining from meals fled his mind as soon as he saw the veritable feast in front of him. The half loaf of bread and wedge of cheese was by far the most substantial meal he had had in days.  
  
"Why?" he asked between mouthfuls.  
  
She shrugged and began to gather her things. "You are not so bad for an Englishman. You had no reason to help me today, but you did just the same, and at great risk to your own personel well being. Mistake this not for kindness Mr. Hornblower, but I believe in paying my debts."  
  
"Kindness? Never. But will you do me another favor dear lady?"  
  
"That depends sir, on what it is you ask me to do."  
  
Horatio placed the remnants of his meal on the cleanest portion of his cot and took off one boot. He inverted the piece of footwear and a small, leather bound ledger fell from its depths. "This is my journal. In it are some of my more personal thoughts and some rather delicate plans of the British Navy. I cannot see it fall to the French."  
  
He held the tiny book out to her. She eyed it for a long moment, her lips pursed before finally taking it from his grasp. "As of right now, we are even."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
She paused by the cell door. "It's Chase by the way."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"My name Mr. Hornblower, Chase."  
  
"That's quite unusual."  
  
"Winifred Eudora Chase, which is precisely the reason I use my surname. And as a matter of note, I find it no more unusual than Horatio. I'll be by again in the morning. G'night Mr. Hornblower."  
  
"Same to you Ms. Chase."  
  
--  
  
Archie Kennedy left the pub feeling more despondent than when he had entered, which usually seemed to be the way of pubs, although he himself had drank only a single drink. In the hours he had spent at and around the bar he had learned much, but nothing that might be used to lead him to Horatio.   
  
He had heard not a single word of French or broken English, not even the barest mention of a French frigate arriving in port. He had learned however, that Mr. Clarke was in the middle of a particularly fine crop of corn and that Ms. Howard's prize heifer was due to birth any day. Had the situation not been so dire he might have laughed.  
  
He strode quickly down the street, his gaze cast on the dirt and pebbles rather than where he was walking. He didn't even see the woman until he plowed into her, knocking both her and her bundle onto the street. He mumbled an apology and bent to help gather her things. Her hand reached the small journal a moment before his did. Archie's hand froze. He would recognize that book anywhere, the letters HH scrawled on the front cover.  
  
Wide blue eyes rose to meet suspicious green ones. The young woman snatched the journal from the ground, said the briefest of thank you's and trotted away. She entered the livery across the street. Archie faded back into the shadows in a nearby ally. A few minutes later she appeared again, this time riding a heavy, short striding chestnut draught. They plodded down the path out of town, his plate sized hooves kicking up huge clouds of dust.  
  
Making sure no one noticed him, Archie followed at a safe distance. The horse moved slowly and he kept up with ease, trotting along the tree line at the edge of the trail. They traveled like that for a few miles until the trees began to thin and finally opened up in a small area of cleared land.   
  
A small log cabin rested at the edge of the clearing. Beside it was a 4-stall barn and a little corral for the horses to run and play in. A wagon was parked on one side of the building. Rows of crops rose behind the shed. The woman tossed her mount into his stall, untacking him and running a brush over his body with deft hands. Then she tossed him and the other three horses some hay.  
  
Archie crouched down in the leaves and tossed his rucksack on the ground. He would stay for the night and then tail her the next morning to find out where she went, in hopes of her leading him to his friend. Archie sighed. His eyes drifted shut. And in the oncoming hours of the night he slept, his head cradled in the leaves, and his jacket tossed over his shoulders.  
  
The morning dawned crisp and clear, the early spring chill leaving one to watch as their breath floated by in a cloud. Archie wakened as dawn gave way to early morning. He had a cramp in his neck and leaves stuck every which way out of his collar and hair. The dreariness he always felt when first waking was jolted from him when he noticed the woman was about to leave. If he wasn't ready in a matter of moments, he would miss her altogether.  
  
She and her rather ungainly mount trotted quietly back down the trail the way they had come. It seemed a familiar route to both her and the horse, and she let the reins go slack against the chestnut's neck. Again she left him at the local livery.   
  
Archie followed her down the narrow, twisting footpath into a clump of trees. He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the building, a solid structure fortified by a high, solid wall. It's a prison, he realized, hidden away from the town. The woman passed by two guards and inside without pause. Archie watched the guards circulate a while longer before turning back toward the town. He would be ready for her in the evening.  
  
--  
  
Horatio smiled when he saw her. The smile wasn't exactly open and warm, but it offered the possibility of friendliness. After all, Chase knew the prison, the countryside and seemed reasonable enough. She could prove to be a valuable ally when the time came for him to make his escape. Not to mention that seeing a face not completely consumed by hostility was a bright spot in his day.  
  
"Breakfast," Chase glanced down the hall at Stephen's closed door. Fishing keys from her pocket she opened the cell door and ventured inside. Horatio took the tray of food from her gratefully, setting it down next to him. "And an extra." She wriggled her brows teasingly and tossed a bright red apple from hand to hand.  
  
"I thought we were even."  
  
"Very true Mr. Hornblower, but now it is I that asks a favor from you. The apple is way of payment."  
  
"Well then, spit it out."  
  
"Ever since I was a child I wished I knew what it was to travel, but I never got the chance. Will you tell me of Europe, and the seas?"  
  
Horatio couldn't hide his surprise. "You didn't read the ledger?"  
  
"No sir I did not," she replied indignantly. "So this is how you perceive Americans, as uncouth ruffians with no regard to privacy. Am I right?"  
  
"Then is it that you don't know how to read? There is no shame in that you realize."  
  
Chase threw her hands into the air and laughed. "I can't win! So now the assumption is that if I am not uncouth than I must be uneducated. No Mr. Hornblower. I am perfectly able to read. But need I remind you that you gave me that journal in confidence and that is where it shall remain, hidden under the floorboards of my humble home."  
  
"I apologize. I should not have let preconceived notions of Americans influence my perception of you. Do you still wish to talk, rude bugger that I am?"  
  
Chase felt her indignation fade quickly. "If you feel so inclined."  
  
Horatio thought for a long moment, pondering where he should begin. He decided to simply start at the beginning. "My career began not so many years ago. I was stationed aboard a ship christened the Justinian. It was upon that stalwart vessel that I first met one of my closest friends, a good humored man by the name of Archie Kennedy..."  
  
--  
  
She pressed the aging gelding into a slightly more lively trot. He lay back his ears and swished his tail with the irritation of being forced out of his comfortable shuffle. Chase scanned the trail in every direction. She felt someone watching her, eyes boring deep into her back. She hadn't been able to shed herself of the feeling since the moment she left the prison grounds. Riding alone through the forest did little to assuage her fears.  
  
Archie first burst onto the trail a yard or so ahead of the horse on the trail. He half-ran, half fell down the rocky, sandy incline. He rushed at the horse, only causing the animal to spook and rear. One massive hoof sliced the air inches from Kennedy's face. Chase reined the horse in, no longer looking at some unseen aggressor, but as a madman with a death wish.  
  
"If you are looking for money I have none. Robbing me of the few pennies I posses is truly a futile endeavor."  
  
"I'm not looking to rob you," he responded, puzzled.  
  
"You're not?"  
  
"No. I'm looking for information."  
  
"Then may I tell you that perhaps you should have planned this better. Attacking lone women on the road does not create an environment conducive to talking. Now I demand that you let me pass."  
  
"I don't think you're in the position to demand anything." He told her in all seriousness.  
  
Chase had to force herself not to laugh. In moments the situation had gone from mildly disconcerting to downright amusing. The situation bordered on the ridiculous. Nothing about the man before her was in any way frightening. He was young, with a handsome face and wide blue eyes. Despite his best efforts to appear serious, he could not hide the faint lines etched about his mouth and eyes. The lines spoke of a man who smiled more than he frowned, and laughed more than he lectured.  
  
"And how did you arrive at this conclusion? You are on the ground. I am riding this great brute of a horse that has taken a dislike to you and would presumably have no qualms as to walking directly over you." The chestnut aided her point, glaring at Archie through his thick forelock and shaking his head aggressively.   
  
Kennedy was at a loss for words. He was unused to the idea of hijacking a woman, and had had little idea of how to proceed. He had never expected her to be so frank and unafraid. Leaving his pistol in his satchel had seemed like a good idea in the morning, but now he could have kicked himself. Without thinking to hide his accent he shouted, "Oh bloody hell!"  
  
Chase rolled her eyes. "Oh for the love of...not another Brit!" She clucked to her horse and moved to circle around Kennedy.  
  
"What do you mean another Brit?" He launched himself at the bridle of the steed, trying to not take notice of the flashing teeth aimed at him. "Is there another Englishman in these parts? You know Hornblower don't you? Tell me."  
  
"And who are you to know of Horatio Hornblower?"  
  
"Mr. Hornblower is my superior officer on board the British ship Indefatigable. My name is Archie Kennedy."  
  
Chase drew the horse to a halt. "Kennedy you say?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well then Mr. Kennedy, I think we need to speak."  
  
End Chapter two.  
Chapter three is coming along slower than I would like, but it is coming. I thought it would be mildly amusing to have Kennedy meet the OC in an odd situation. And now I beg for information. IS Mariette or Marienette (I'm not even sure to her name) dead? I hoped you like this section too. Thanks for reading.  



	3. Escape

Chapter 3: Escape  
Author's note: I'm having so much fun with this. In this chapter, Archie and Chase have some more banter and try to free Horatio from the prison. Thanks so much from all the positive comments so far.   
Archive: Sure, but I'd appreciate knowing where to.  
Disclaimer: I've said it before, I won't say it again.  
  
~*~  
  
"You're laughing at me," Kennedy muttered darkly.  
  
Chase bit her lip to suppress a snort and shook her head vigorously. Then she drew in a deep, steadying breath and said with all the seriousness she could muster, "No. I wouldn't laugh at you." She turned abruptly away, her shoulders shaking in quiet fits of mirth.   
  
Kennedy swiped at a clump of mud that hung from a golden tendril. "You would, and you are."  
  
Chase snickered. "Plowing a field wasn't as easy as you thought was it?"  
  
Archie gave a long suffering sigh as he unsuccessfully tried to remove more of the mud from his attire. "That much is glaringly obvious," he muttered. With a final swipe he too began to laugh. "I must be such a sight." Wide aquamarine eyes twinkled when he smiled.  
  
"You're something all right." Chase took the reins from the officer's grasp and tethered the horses with deft fingers. She felt completely at ease, and tried not to think that, if all went according to plan, he and Horatio would be leaving in a matter of days. She felt a sort of kinship with both men, a sort of off kilter friendship that started under circumstances that never could have been predicted, and she would miss them both when they left.  
  
It had been nine days since she had met Kennedy on the trail to her home. After sorting out who was who and Chase assuring that Horatio was indeed alive, she had invited the young British officer to her home in the woods. She had never intended to become so involved, but she had, and now it was too late to turn back...  
  
Back on the trail, nine days earlier:  
  
"Are you sure?" the blonde asked. "You say you live with your father. Will he object to my presence?"  
  
"He might," Chase admitted, "if he were home. He's, away, at the moment."  
  
"Do you expect him to return in short order?"  
  
"I never expect him to return at any given time. My father will do as he always does, as he has done the last twelve years. Spend his time at some bar in another town until he is bled dry of the money I lent him the last time. Then he will return, soused and penniless as usual. He'll dry up, stay a few days, then take my money and move on to the next town, the next bar, the next woman, and the next drink," she couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice.  
  
The subject then, and most definitely thereafter was closed. So Kennedy had agreed. Her cottage was small, with only three rooms. A small wood burning stove sat in one corner and there were a few wood chairs scattered about the rest of the room, and a table for dining. The other two rooms were bedrooms, as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house. Chase had pointed him to her father's room, which was dingy and stale from lack of use and left without another word.   
  
She remained distant all that night and the next morning, although she had grudgingly agreed to carry a message to Hornblower. That afternoon she found herself returning with another message, this time for Kennedy. Her resolve to not get involved crumbling with every minute.  
  
It was the next day she began to speak more casually with the two naval officers, not caring to watch what or even how she said anything. She lent Kennedy a horse to ride when he met with Wellard and upon his return, gave him as detailed a drawing of the prison as she could make.  
  
"Did you not bring your friend with you?" She asked upon his return.  
  
"I thought it would be better to have him remain in Richardson. Mr. Wellard, although a decidedly exceptional mariner thus far into his career, is but a youth. I do not wish his exuberance and impetuousness to compromise the mission. I have enough o think about now without having to concern myself with Mr. Wellard."  
  
Chase smiled wanly. "Ah yes. Because you are so old and knowledgeable in the ways of the world at the age of what, twenty-one? Yes, old man, you must possess so much insight into our wondrous world."  
  
Kennedy frowned deeply, lines setting themselves by his mouth and brow. He was not in the mood to be teased. "Thank you for the horse and the map. If you care to offer any helpful tips I would be much obliged, but otherwise I beg you to leave me be."  
  
Chase held up her hands. "No, absolutely not. That map is tantamount to treason and is the last bit of help you will get from me. Frankly, I'm still at a loss as to how I ended up helping you this much already."  
  
"Mr. Hornblower is an innocent man. Your sense of justice does not wish to seem him hanged."  
  
"Do not presume to know me so well Mr. Kennedy," she replied a bit crossly. It seemed too late for that. In two short days the man had read her like an open book. Horatio had grown on her like a weed and now Kennedy was doing the same. She would help them at any cost, but she saw no sense in revealing that particular fact right away.   
  
"You sir, are but a guest in my home and I would advise you not to assume things about my character. I could ask you why you care so much. In fact, why do you?"  
  
"Horatio is a good man, honest and brave, in battle and in life. He is destined to become one of the great Commanders in the history of the Navy and I do not wish to see him die before he can fulfill that destiny. I want the death of no Englishman on my conscience but my own."  
  
"It's odd you know," she began quietly.  
  
"What's that?" his eyes never left the blueprint.  
  
"You speak as well of Mr. Hornblower as he does of you. Just yesterday most everything that you just stated about him he stated about you. He speaks highly of your talents and believes you will make a fine Commander. What do you think of that?"  
  
"Bah! What sort of Commander would I make? I can't even successfully ambush a lone woman on the road. And now it seems I must devise a way to free my friend from a prison when you have drawn it so that there is no possible means for my undetected entry."  
  
She shrugged. "That's because there is no way for you to get in."  
  
"Those were not the words of advice that I was looking for," he commented dryly. "Are you saying there is no way to free Horatio?"  
  
"Not quite. It is not as yet hopeless Mr. Kennedy. As I said, there is no way for you to get inside," she paused, carefully considering the weight of what she was to say next, "but there is for me."  
  
Archie shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely out of the question. If you were caught then they would surely kill you. I will not stand by and watch a woman risk her life..."  
  
"You are right sir," she interrupted, "in the fact that it is my life to risk. What do you believe me to have been doing the last few days? Running messages between you two would almost certainly ensure my death if I were caught. I do not fear death Mr. Kennedy, but I do fear cowering in a dark corner while life passes me by. If you want to get Horatio out, then you will allow me to help in every way I can or not at all. You won't get in there without me." She held out her hand. "Agreed?"  
  
Kennedy ran a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. "Are you always so sure of yourself?"  
  
"Always."  
  
He hesitated a moment longer. Then he took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Agreed."  
  
And so they had devised a plan. It was nearly ridiculous in its simplicity, and beautiful in the fact that it would almost surely work. Now all they had to do was wait. Of course, waiting was the hardest part of all.  
  
Chase grew increasingly agitated as the days passed. She worked in a near frantic state every day, rushing from cell to cell and neglecting the complaints of some of the prisoners. She spent all the time she could with Horatio, going over the plan countless times. She tried to keep herself occupied, but it wasn't easy.  
  
Kennedy, not wanting to risk showing his face around town, stayed at Chase's cottage. He resumed his old habit, pacing around the house and along the property line. The hours alone wore on thinning nerves, and he seemed not able to stop moving. He ate, but his ceaseless motion burned off the food faster than he could consume it and he began to lose weight. He slept less and less often, and twice had fits in the middle of the day when Chase was not around. The fits left him tired and bruised and he could feel himself sliding into depression.   
  
He found it easier to avoid such depression when Chase was around. She gave him someone to talk to, someone to occupy his thoughts. She used him in much the same way, and the two drove each other to distraction. When they were not talking, Archie had his nose buried in the prison schematic as he questioned the plan over and over again.  
  
"You'll drive yourself mad doing that," she said simply one evening.  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Questioning yourself. The plan will work. Trust in it, yourself and Mr. Hornblower."  
  
"I trust myself and Horatio. The plan not so much. And I don't feel that I will drive myself to the brink of insanity merely by assuring myself that all will go as intended."  
  
"Well you're driving me mad."  
  
Kennedy stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. "You are not so composed as you appear. You've been standing at that window staring out into space for an hour and not once during that time has your foot ceased its infernal tapping." Surprised, Chase looked down at her uncooperative appendage. It was indeed, tapping faster than a woodpecker gnawed at the bark of a tree. She blushed and forced herself to stop.  
  
"At least my mind is not consumed with self doubt."  
  
"And what are you thinking of pray tell?"  
  
"I am pondering how long it shall take me to plow the back field tomorrow. The ground is still fairly soft from the rain two days ago. If I hitch Jack and Silver to the plow I think I shall be finished before I need to leave for the prison."  
  
"You're not going into the prison tomorrow?"  
  
"Not in the morning." Kennedy's alarm was apparent. "I begged Stephen for a month to get tomorrow morning off. I am sure that Mr. Hornblower will not forget the plan if I am not there to school him in the dawn hours. It will seem quite odd if I show up after having made such a fuss about getting the time off."  
  
Archie shrugged, relenting. "I suppose you may have something at that. Maybe I'll help you. Might get my mind off everything."  
  
"Have you ever plowed a field before?"  
  
He shrugged. "How hard can it be?"  
  
Chase laughed at that. "If you insist. Just don't say I didn't warn you."  
  
...And so he woke that morning, ready to head out to work, only to find that Chase and two of her horses were already gone. He tracked them to a well worn dirt path and followed he hoofprints in the soil. He found them hard at work some half mile away.  
  
The sun rose majestically over the tree line, scorching the dew off blades of grass as it rose. Its bright rays brought with it the promise of a blistering hot day. The air was already warm, the dew scorched off the blades of grass.  
  
Chase had stopped when she saw him coming. She eased the horses to a halt, reaching for the canteen that was slung over one of the plow's handles. Sweat dripped from her brow and beaded on her upper lip. Dark, damp tendrils of hair escaped their ribbon and clung loosely to her cheeks. She took a deep drink from the container.  
  
Her face was red from exertion and she was breathing hard, but she looked happy nonetheless. He was surprised to see that she wore pants rather than a skirt. Chase must have noticed the look on his face for she quickly explained.  
  
"Plowing in skirts is a ghastly thing. The damned thing is stifling, especially in weather like this and I carry more soil in my hem than you would believe. Breeches are simply easier."  
  
"I'll take over if you need a rest. You shouldn't have to do such work anyway."  
  
Chase smiled and handed over the lines. "Why? Because I'm female and frail like that? I have been plowing these fields on my own since I was fourteen. And you sir, are late. Farm work begins early, especially with a day that promises to be so hot."  
  
"You should have woken me."  
  
"Oh no. Last night was the first time you weren't up and down in the middle of the night, pacing all over. The walls in that house are thin you know. I thought I should let you sleep." He looped the reins over his shoulder the way he had seen Chase do it and clucked to the horses with his tongue. "Just be careful," she warned, "some spots are still muddy and rather slippery."  
  
Those words of advice he had not heeded, and now he found himself drenched from head to toe in mud. His boot had slipped on a patch of deep and sodden earth, sending him face first into a murky mud puddle.  
  
"You're laughing at me." He said again.  
  
"I'm not really. But I'll tell you one thing."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"It was a good thing you decided to join the Navy, because you were never made to be a farmer." This time even Kennedy had to laugh. Chase gazed up at the sky. The sun had drifted overhead, now hanging in the western skies. She sighed. "At least we managed to finish most of this field. But the prison dinners will not wait. Look, there is a lake not a quarter mile that way. You can clean yourself up there. I'll be back before dark." Then the two parted ways, not knowing what lay in store for them.  
  
--  
  
Lather flew from the horse as it galloped half mad down the road. Its ears were pinned flat and saliva dripped from his mouth. He burly chestnut wheezed with every stride, not accustomed to running so hard for so long.  
  
Chase leapt from his back while he was still moving, not concerned with where he would wonder. Not that it mattered. The horse was too tired to do more than stand and pant outside the door of the cottage. She burst through the door and into the cottage, the sentence already half out her lips.  
  
"Mr. Kennedy, it seems that we may have a bit of a complication. The..." she trailed off. "What in the world is going on here?"  
  
The blonde man glared at her from his place across the room. He stood, facing off with another man, a small table set between them. The second man was shorter than Kennedy, and burlier. He hopped about awkwardly on one leg, brandishing a very large knife in one hand. "I could ask you the very same. This loon claims to be your father." He ducked as the short man swiped the knife at him again.  
  
"He's not a loon, he's my father and he's drunk. Please don't hurt him."  
  
"Hurt him?" Archie cried incredulously. "He's the one with the bloody knife! And you're telling me I shouldn't hurt him! Are you completely daft?"  
  
"He's crippled Mr. Kennedy, in case you hadn't noticed and completely inebriated. He probably thinks you've done something to me."  
  
"Well you're right here so call the bugger off!" Again he barely dodged an attack from the smaller man.  
  
"Papa. Papa stop that." The man ceased his attack on the officer and turned to face his daughter. His face lightened almost immediately.  
  
"Winnie!" He cried, jubilant. "There you are. Do you know this British bastard?"  
  
"Yes papa. He's, a friend." With a demeanor that appeared too well practiced, Chase picked up the man's crutch from where he had dropped it on the floor. She handed it to him and helped him to get settled in a chair. The stump of his left leg stuck out awkwardly.  
  
"A friend!" His face colored in an ugly purple hue. "We are no friends to the Brits."  
  
"Well father, he is my friend. I am going to help him free another man from prison. He's innocent and he needs to be released."  
  
"Innocent," he grunted. "Another Brit I suppose." She nodded. "No such thing as an innocent Brit. You know, I have never liked you working in that horrid place. Stephen's a jackass."  
  
"I wouldn't work there if we didn't need the money," she snapped. "You spend all that I make."  
  
The man's face seemed to age ten years. His eyes partially closed and his features sagged. He was near tears. "I have tried Winnie, really. I've done the best I can. But your mother..." a sob racked his body.   
  
Chase signaled Kennedy to go outside with a nod of her head. "I know Papa. I know. But you must promise me that you will make no mention of this to anyone. It is important."  
  
"I won't tell a soul Winnie. I love you." With those words he drifted into a drunken slumber. She retrieved a blanket from the trunk by her bed and placed it over top of him. He had been a god man once, smart and kind and happy. But the years had taken their toll and now he was nothing more than a broken shell. Chase wandered outside, and found Kennedy tending to her horse in the stables.  
  
"His mind is not all there," she told him softly. "I don't think he would have really tried to hurt you. And I know you had every right to knock him flat, but I'm glad you didn't."  
  
"Don't mention it, and I mean that. How did it happen, his leg I mean?"  
  
"He wandered out in front of a six horse hitch about five years ago. The wheel of the wagon crushed his leg and the doctors had to remove it. Anyway, thank you."  
  
"It's just lucky that you came bursting in the door when you did."  
  
The memory hit her like a slap in the face. "Oh Lord I almost forgot. We have a problem. The French are returning tomorrow afternoon. We must move up the day of the escape."  
  
Archie glanced up sharply. "They're coming? When did you find this out?"  
  
"I heard Stephen mention it to another guard. WE need to act tomorrow. The French will bring guards of their own and this plan rests on a song and a prayer as is."  
  
"But the Indy doesn't sail through here for three days!"  
  
"You can hide here until you need to leave, but if we wait I fear that this will not work."  
  
"Then we shall move on the morrow and hope that fates are smiling on us. It's all we can do."  
  
--  
  
Horatio tensed. The muscles in his jaw flexed convulsively and his intense dark eyes shifted. He rolled the tiny key in his hand, impatiently waiting to escape. Chase was doing her part, flirting ridiculously with Stephen and trying to get him into his office, but for once the man did not seem ready to leave. HE stood at the end of the aisle, watching Hornblower like a hawk.  
  
Horatio could feel the drum of his own heart inside his chest. He needed to go inside and relax; allowing the drug Chase had slipped into his whiskey bottle to take affect. Finally, Chase leaned into his chest, whispering something into his ear. He flashed that gruesome, yellow smile and followed her inside.  
  
Horatio fairly leapt forward. He jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. The lock snapped open and the door slid silently open on newly greased hinges. He trotted to the left, into the shadows and picked up the dark green trunk. The trap door underneath it led to the old cellar. He tugged on it, the wood, swollen by moisture, not wanting to give. He heaved on the handle with all his might and it popped up, nearly sending Horatio to ground. He slipped inside, his feet finding the ladder he knew would be there, and let the hatch settle back into place.  
  
He felt along the wall to his right. The stones were wet and cold and the cellar smelled of old earth and decomposing food. He could see nothing in the dark. After what seemed an eternity his palms scraped on something that was not stone. He pushed on the door that would lead him outside and to his freedom.  
  
The glare of sunlight and the merry face of Archie Kennedy, who was grinning wildly, greeted Horatio. "How is it to see the light of day once more, and feel the sun upon your back."  
  
"Outstanding, but may I suggest that we hold off celebrations until we are actually outside the prison walls?"  
  
Kennedy clapped his friend on the back. "Good old Horatio. So level headed at all times." He peered around the corner of the building. "Now, over the wall."  
The two friends made a mad dash for the rope dangling over the rock wall. Horatio climbed up like a cat, nimble and lithe. Kennedy too was over in good order, but without the grace of motion that Horatio displayed.  
  
Chase's two other riding horses, Jack and Silver waited for them on the other side. They stopped grazing momentarily as the men scaled the wall, but otherwise took no notice of anything unusual. Archie swung neatly onto the larger bay. "Follow me." Horses and riders disappeared into the dense foliage.  
  
--  
  
The escape had proven a success. Horatio and Archie arrived back at Chase's without delay. She returned later that evening, as the sun set and it approached dusk. She bore a wide grin form ear to ear.  
  
"You should have seen the look on Stephen's face when he found you missing!" She exclaimed. "He was furious! Positively livid. It was wonderful. And the French officer," she laughed gleefully a she recounted the tale. "Those Frenchmen really know how to yell."  
  
The evening wore on. Chase cooked something of a feast and both Englishmen ate until they thought they might burst. Not long after they started, her father came in. He said nothing however, obviously not pleased to have Archie and Horatio in his home, and marched directly to his room.   
  
They celebrated late into the night. Words like wonderful, outstanding and brilliant were thrown about with abandon. Nothing seemed like it could go wrong. Of course, that only furthered the proof that the fates like to screw with people's heads.  
  
The following morning dawned crisp, sunny and cool. The sky was a brilliant blue. But everything may as well have been gray, when Chase saw the two riders coming toward the cottage at a brisk trot. It was Stephen and a French Lieutenant, both looking more than a little cross.  
  
Chase whirled toward her father. Her eyes were wide and fearful. "Why are they here? Papa, where did you go last night?" He looked at her from behind glassy eyes and shook his head sadly. "Were you drinking last night? What did you say?" She wailed.  
  
Ashamed, he could not answer. "Stay here. Just stay in here while I fix this." She took a deep breath and left the cottage.  
  
Horatio and Archie watched the riders from the barn loft where they had spent the night. Chase left the house to meet them. The two friends exchanged pensive glances. Nothing good could come of this.  
  
"What is it Stephen?"  
  
The jailer jumped from his stocky black horse and strode over to her. He towered over her, his face blotchy and red. "Where do you have him you little bitch?" HE spat.  
  
"Have who?"  
  
He grabbed her arm, twisting it mercilessly. "The British officer that's who. Don't play dumb with me girlie. Your falling down drunk of a father came into town yesterday and had a few drinks. Loosened his tongue a bit. Mentioned something to Hatcher about you keeping strange company, British men. Hatcher told me last night after you left. Now I want to know where they are."  
  
Archie shifted in the hay, his usually tranquil blue eyes darkening. Horatio placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.   
  
At that moment things went from bad to worse. Chase's father came out of the building then, hopping along with his crutch tucked under one arm and a rifle under the other. He leveled the gun at Stephen. The jailer snorted. "Put that thing down old man. You don't have the stomach to shoot me."  
  
"Don't be so sure of that."  
  
"Papa please go back inside. I can handle Stephen."  
  
"Right Winnie. Let me get you alone and we'll see how much you can handle."   
  
She spit in his face. "Not to save my life." He growled, his eyes two dark glowing embers. He struck her down with his hand. She crumpled to the earth with a small whimper.   
  
The two shots rang out almost instantaneously. Stephen and her father fell to the earth. Her father's aim was true and the jailer was dead before he hit the ground, a seeping, bloody wound in the center of his chest. The French officer smiled snidely before turning his horse around and trotting away the same way he had come. When he disappeared around the bend Horatio and Archie moved from their hiding place in the loft.  
  
They reached the place where her father had fallen. Chase sat with him, crying unabashedly and stroking his face. She pulled him farther into her lap. The man's eyes were thick with tears and he struggled for each breath. "I love you Winnie."  
  
Chase brought a rough, blood soaked hand to her face and nodded. "I know papa."  
  
"You look so much like your mother. You have her smile. My women were always so much stronger than I. Don't cry Winnie. I'll see your mother now."  
  
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "Tell her hello for me." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He took a last shuddering breath, then slipped away. Horatio and Archie stood awkwardly to one side, uncomfortable at having witnessed such a private scene.  
  
"Chase," Horatio began softly.  
  
"Go. You need to go now. They're going to come looking for you."  
  
"You could come with us."  
  
She shook her head. "No. Please, take the horses and go while you still have a chance. Don't let this all be for naught. Take the path around the lake. They'll have the main roads guarded. You'll get to the crossroads in three hours. Now please leave."  
  
Neither wanted to leave her there, but they saw they had no real choice. The jogged back to the barn. "They'll hang her for sure Horatio."  
  
"She knows Archie. She knows."  
  
--  
  
Portsmouth never seemed so foreign to her. Streets she had traveled a thousand times felt distant and out of place. Her mind blocked out the sound of the people on the streets, but she knew they were whispering. She felt numb all over. She let Stephen's black horse wander as he might toward the apothecary. Her father was slung across the back of her giant chestnut. She had left Stephen where he fell.  
  
She delivered the body without a word. She had no need to speak anyway. The blood on her clothes and the horse she rode were enough. Portsmouth was a small town and there was no doubt in her mind that everyone knew what had transpired that morning. She was equally sure that most people blamed her.  
  
It was only by chance that she overheard the conversation of three men. She was watering her horses at the trough outside the livery and they took no notice of her. "Yep. Those French boys are offerin' ten gold pieces to whoever finds 'em. I hear they already got a man waiting for them at the crossroads." They all started to laugh, muttering about 'them unlucky British bastards don't know what's coming."  
  
Her head snapped up. The fog around her mind seemed to lift a little. Her earlier despair was replaced by something else, anger, hostility. It was because of the French that her father was dead. Maybe. Maybe if she worked quickly she could still make it in time.  
  
She delivered her chestnut to the livery, asking the stable boy to take good care of him. She drew her father's rifle from the saddle and swung onto Stephen's black. She spurred him forward and they streaked from town.  
  
--  
  
It was embarrassing. Horatio and Archie had not thought of a sentry stationed at the crossroads, although they should have. And by the time they realized that someone was behind them it was too late. The French officer held his weapon on Archie and motioned for them to dismount.   
  
They heard the rifle being readied. They breathed a little faster. Each knew that the French only really needed one man to get information from. The other was fated to die on the spot. Both jumped when they heard the shot.  
  
Horatio blinked. Kennedy looked down at himself, running his hands down his chest to make sure that he was indeed intact. They sighed. They lowered their hands and turned slowly. Chase road toward them, smoke still billowing from the nose of her rifle. Her eyes were somber and she didn't smile. She looked from the Frenchman to the English. "Is the offer to come still on the table?"  
  
"Most definitely," they responded in unison.  
  
--  
Epilogue  
  
"What's this?" Chase asked. Her eyes left the endless sea and drifted to the envelope in her hand.  
  
Kennedy leaned against the rail of the Indy next to her. The wind blew through his hair, making it billow. "A letter."  
  
"To what purpose?"  
  
"It was Horatio's idea actually. He figured that you would need some sort of job when you reach England."  
  
"And you found me a job? As what? Assistant in a prison? May I remind you that I was not too good at that job the first time around."  
  
"We're scheduled to meet up with the Solo today. You will be leaving, much to the disappointment of some." The crew, some of whom had not seen any woman in months, had grown attached to the American woman.  
  
"And the glee of others." She smiled. It was a humorless smile that did not reach her eyes.  
  
Kennedy chuckled. "I thought Pellew was going to throw a fit. Thank God it was Horatio convincing him to let you stay and not myself. You would have been thrown overboard in the first five minutes."  
  
"It was only because you offered to give up your cabin to me that he agreed at all."  
  
"Perhaps. But that's not my point. Horatio mentioned your horses a few days ago and how fond you seemed of them. Well, my uncle has a farm a few miles outside Gloustershire. He also raises and races horses as a habit. I think you will be quite happy there."  
  
"Who says he'll even hire me?"  
  
"My uncle would be loathe to refuse his favorite nephew. Now here is where I must say my goodbyes. I have to be on duty in another few minutes."  
  
Chase smiled again. This time it was real, although small. "Just remember when you come to visit, if you come, to stay away from the plows."  
  
He grinned. "Of course I'll come. And so will Horatio if I don't miss my guess."  
  
"Where is he anyway? I was hoping to say goodbye."  
  
"Horatio is not fond of goodbyes. His is more, 'till the next time we meet.' But I'll properly scold him for it, don't you worry."  
  
"If all of Britain and all her people are like you and Hornblower then I will not have a worry in the world. Goodbye Archie Kennedy."  
  
"Goodbye Winifred Eudora Chase. Till the next time we meet."  
  
FIN  
  
Okay, so it got a little sappy in the end, but I couldn't help it. Please tell me what you think of it. Thanks so much for reading. Now I have to go start the next one.  



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